


The Differences Between Right and Easy

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, I don't really know what to tag this, probably angst, season 8 MSF spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 09:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: The war ends, not with a bang but with a letter.





	The Differences Between Right and Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I think I needed to process some *feeEeelings*

The war ends, not with a bang but with a letter.

None of them could have fathomed it just days before when they rained gunfire on Sanctuary and took out all the outposts. Daryl sure as shit couldn’t have. To all of them, it seemed like someone would have to win or they would have to destroy each other. Those were the only options for punctuating such a long, angry, blood-ridden sentence.

Carl makes it as far as Hilltop before he stops breathing. And none of their group can do it, none of them. So in the end it ends up being Siddiq who quietly keeps him from breathing again, so subtle and respectful that they don’t even really see the knife slip in and out.

“He wanted me to make sure these got to you,” he says, after the knife has been stashed away again. A pile of letters sits in his hand, the top one addressed to “Dad.”

Rick takes it and holds it without reading it just yet. Eyes wide, he keeps it down at his side, his hand shaking subtly. Daryl knows that look, and it’s worrying because they can’t afford to have him fall apart right now. But they can’t begrudge him going to pieces either. Daryl has never known the pain of losing a son, but he knows what losing Merle felt like. Twice. He imagines this is far worse.

More pieces of paper get revealed and somberly pulled away from the stack by the recipients or those willing to deliver them later. Michonne, Maggie, Daryl, Enid, Tara, Judith, Gabriel, Carol, Aaron, Rosita, Morgan. It seems like Carl wrote to literally everyone still alive in their patchwork family. But the last letter in the stack is still a shock.

No one takes it at first, all of them staring at the inky black letters spelling out “Negan.” The room falls quiet. Even the sniffles stop for a heartbeat or two.

Reluctantly, Daryl grabs it, because otherwise it seems like Siddiq is going to have to stand there all night with it in his hand. He tucks it into his pocket, the other letter beside it. Some of the others have read theirs already or are in the process, a few of them sobbing or sniffing or wiping back quiet tears of grief before folding them up and putting them away. But Daryl wants to be alone. And they have a body to take care of, and Rick is still staring at the wall like he’s willing himself to wake up. Michonne delicately wraps an arm around his middle and leads him away.

Daryl and Tara dig the grave right beside Glenn and Abraham’s. Inside, Maggie and Jesus do something they’ve never done before. They wash Carl and dress him in clean clothes. They wrap him in a pristine white sheet and tie it with twine. They stick flowers and comic book pages in between the strings.

By the time the hole is deep enough, with Tara and Daryl’s hands both covered in welcome callouses that bleed and ooze, everyone has gathered. Everyone present anyway. And it seems shit to Daryl that Enid isn’t there because he knows she and Carl were something special even if it was young love. But they can’t exactly wait to bury him either.

Daryl doesn’t hear the words Jesus takes it upon himself to say in Gabriel’s absence. He doesn’t hear the words other people in his group say about the kid they all knew and loved either, too focused on memories of a child’s laughter, of a young man who could have easily stepped into his father’s shoes.

“Remember when he wouldn’t stay in the damn house?” Daryl mumbles with a pained laugh that turns to even more painful when he realizes that, no, they don’t remember because nearly everyone who would remember is dead. Carol isn’t there and Rick  _is_ there but he’s also somewhere else. He looks around and realizes that out of everyone from Atlanta, from that quarry where Rick Grimes became his anchor and he became his, there are only three of them left.

The war he’d been so desperate to fight and win suddenly seems so damn pointless in the grand scheme of things. 

Rick Grimes, who had always seemed something like invincible, suddenly seems so… mortal.

“He was a damn good kid,” Daryl says, choking on tears he really doesn’t want to let out in front of everybody. Then he nods at Tara beside him because he can’t say anything else without breaking.

They continue around the circle. Rick doesn’t speak, opting instead to kneel down in the dirt before grabbing a handful and letting it drift down onto dandelions and Spiderman.

Daryl doesn’t touch the letters in his pocket until after the dirt has been piled on and covered over with more flowers. Until after the brown Stetson has been set atop a wooden cross. Until he’s sure Michonne has Rick.

When all his concerns have been at least somewhat soothed, he finds a quiet place behind Barrington, a small flashlight in between his teeth while he cries and reads.

_Uncle Daryl,_

_Do you remember after the farm before we found the prison? We were all so hungry and tired and mom was huge. And you got up one day and said you were gonna find us something to eat._

_I begged to go, and you made mom and dad let me come with you._

Daryl smiles, though his throat aches and his eyes burn. That was one way to put it. Really, he’d shrugged and said the kid should learn how to catch his own dinner at some point. But it doesn’t matter now, because he’s remembering how small Carl’s hands were as he tried to hold his crossbow steady, how much they shook with the weight.

He should still be here. So many of them should still be here.

_I asked why you hunt with a bow instead of a gun because guns are easier and smaller. You told me that sometimes the easier way isn’t the right way. And I think you were just trying to just shut up the stupid kid who wouldn’t leave you alone, but you were right._

_Fighting Negan and killing each other would be easier. But it’s not right. None of us know how much longer we have. I’m proof of that now._

_I guess what I’m saying is that we should try harder to end this. If it doesn’t work, I know we can kick his ass, but I’m taking a chance here on something better. For all of you, for dad, for Judith. I know it’s a lot to ask, but there’s a letter for Negan too. Or there will be. I want you to give it to him. It can’t be dad and it can’t be Michonne because dad probably needs her._

_But I trust you. I’m sorry. I know it’s not easy, especially after what they did to you. But it’s right. Or it could be._

_Please take care of dad. And Judith. Oh, and teach her to hunt when she’s old enough. It’s important._

_Thank you for teaching me (and dad) how to make snares. Thank you for letting me go hunting with you that day. Thank you for saving Judith’s life and my dad’s and all of ours so many times. Thank you for what you’re hopefully about to do. You were the best uncle I ever had._

_See ya someday,_

_Carl_

The second he finishes, Daryl rolls sideways onto the grass and lets go of the sobs he's been holding onto. He fights back the urge to wail into the night at the unfairness of it all. And he doesn’t stop, doesn’t try to make himself either there alone in the dark. He lets it come, snot pouring out of his nose. And when the well dries, he keeps sobbing, dry wracking things that shake his whole body.

He thinks about how little he’d hesitate if presented with the opportunity to take Carl’s place. The world has never been right or fair and Daryl has always known that, but this is too much. This is far too much.

He covers his eyes and presses palms against them until he sees stars. He thinks of homemade silencers and video games.

When he finally stops crying, he knows it’s more of a pause. The slightest push, and he could start all over again. And he does, when a sound breaks the night, cutting through the air and slamming directly into his chest. Daryl might have stopped himself from wailing, but somewhere else, Rick isn’t holding back.

Anyone who didn’t know would think someone is dying. And maybe Rick Grimes is.

It’s a long time before Daryl can even reach into his pocket to touch the edges of the other letter. By then, his eyes are dry and puffy and warm. He has to grope around on the grass to find the small flashlight again. He unfurls the paper, completely unsure of what he’ll find inside. He has no idea what Carl could possibly say to Negan to get him to let all of this go. He finds out. 

_Negan,_

_If you’re reading this, then I’m dead. Don’t try to pretend you don’t give a shit._

_I’ve been thinking a lot about this and I’ve decided you’re an idiot. How many people did you lose when this all started? How many people did your people lose? I mean, I get it. Resources are precious and you think you’re doing something good by organizing everyone. Or maybe you’re just a dick who needs to feel like he’s got control over something. Either way, anyone with a brain could see the best move would be to call this off and go our separate ways. Heck maybe even work together. Either way what good does more people dying do no matter what side they’re on? None._

_If you don’t listen to me though, my people will tear down everything you’ve built brick by brick. You might think they won’t. You might think you’ll win this. But you don’t know my dad. You’re not the first Negan we’ve had to deal with. In case you’re wondering, all the other ones are dead._

_Forgiveness isn’t easy. It might even be easier to shoot at each other and pretend we’re brave. I know it’ll take a long time for my people to forgive yours because the people you killed were good people. Glenn saved my dad in the beginning when he didn’t have to. And you know how brave Sasha was. I’ve asked everyone to try to make it work anyway if you decide to listen to someone smarter than you for a change._

_I think you should. I think you should end this because death is already almost a promise and we shouldn’t be killing each other. You didn’t do this to me. A walker did. I’ve killed more than I can remember and one still got me. You aren’t immune to death either. None of us are._

_So do what’s right, not what’s easy. Make the world better. It’s what I want. And whoever you named that stupid bat after, I bed she’d want it too._

_\- Carl Grimes_

_P.S. Let the wives go, you gross asshole._

Daryl reads the letter two or three times, processing it and trying to decide why the hell Negan would care about the words of a young boy. But Carl’s right. Maybe not about the inevitability of their win, though Daryl’s faith in Rick Grimes is almost as strong as his son’s. But he’s right that the war is just more death piled on everyone including the pricks over in the Sanctuary.

And Daryl doesn’t like even the idea of letting them go. He wants them all dead, and he wants to be the one with the most blood on his hands when it’s all over. He wants to make them suffer for all the things they’ve done. But hating them is easy, so so easy. 

And if they can end this peacefully…

If they can somehow all fulfill the dying wish of a man who should still have been a boy…

Daryl puts his head in his hands and thinks, though he knows he’s already made the decision and is just coming to terms with it.

In the morning, he straps a homemade white flag to his motorcycle and rides out of Hilltop. He’s not two miles out when he runs into Negan, a hundred guns pointed at his head while he crawls off the motorcycle and drops to his knees, hands clasped together on the back of his neck.

“You are either really fucking stupid or really fucking brave, Daryl,” Negan says, leaning back. 

“Probably both,” Daryl answers. “But Carl asked me to bring you somethin.”

“Carl,” Negan says with a smile, “where is that little prick?”

“He’s dead.”

Negan’s demeanor changes immediately, and for a moment Daryl swears he feels just as miserable as everyone back at Hilltop. Maybe Carl was right in thinking he could somehow get to him. The next thing out of Negan’s mouth is not at all what Daryl would’ve expected.

“Did we…?” Negan asks. He sounds almost hoarse, and it’s clear if it had been him or his men, he might even feel something like guilt. Up until now, Daryl hadn’t realized he was even capable.

“Walker.”

Near-guilt turns into pained relief.

“I’m actually sincerely goddamn sorry to hear that,” Negan says.

“Gonna reach in my pocket now,” Daryl says. Because even though he’s here willingly, he still doesn’t want to be, and the sooner it's over, the better.   
  
“Slowly,” Simon butts in, shaking his gun at him for emphasis.

Delicately, Daryl reaches in and clasps his fingers around the now-worn paper. He pulls it out and holds out his hand, remaining as still as he physically can while Negan steps forward, Lucille resting on one shoulder.

He’s done it. Whether Negan kills him after he reads it or not, he’s done it. Something like closure washes over him even though he still feels like shit, even though the sadness will last for days and weeks and years and maybe forever, the gravity of losing Carl echoing through all of time. 

Negan paces while he reads, his brow furrowing, his face splitting into the occasional smile. And Daryl waits, hands loosely down by his sides.

“Jesus,” Negan says, in such a way that it sounds like two whole words. Jeez. Us. “Did he really ask you all to just let this go?”

“Know he asked me,” Daryl says. “Ain’t exactly asked to read everyone else’s.”

“Let me see yours,” Negan says, and Daryl reluctantly pulls it from his other pocket before handing it over.

“Better get it back.”

Negan doesn’t respond, pacing while he reads Daryl’s letter too. When he’s done, he folds it up and returns it.

“That little badass,” he says softly.

“Yeah," Daryl says. "Yeah he was.”

Daryl waits more while Negan thumbs at the paper in his hand, chewing it over. Quietly observing, he can see the exact moment the man in front of him goes from Negan to  _Negan_ , his face and posture changing and filling the air with ego and probably-false confidence.

“Well gentlemen and big-balled ladies, it seems I have  _a lot_  to think about. Everyone saddle up and head back to home base. It looks like we got ourselves a 24-hour ceasefire until I figure out what the hell I want do with this new information."

“And this one?” someone asks, her gun trained on Daryl. He can practically see her trigger finger itching.

“What goddamn part of ceasefire do you not understand, Arat?” Negan asks, already turning away. Daryl’s still kneeling on the road when all their taillights disappear around a bend in the road.

Feeling a little dazed, and a lot tired, he gets up and rides back to Hilltop with the news.

They never know what thoughts went through Negan’s head in that 24-hours, but he eventually shows up with a white flag of his own. He’s alone save a small group of women. He offers them all the chance to stay there in Hilltop if Hilltop will have them.

He says he’s willing to talk about something like a treaty.

“Let’s have us our very own goddamn Versailles, ladies and gentlemen.”

And it’s hard. There’s a definite outcry, with people demanding they kill him then, that the idea of even trying to make peace with the Saviors is bullshit. And Daryl’s inclined to agree even if he has decided to push that back and try to see Carl’s vision through.

It comes back to letters again. Letters and Negan conceding an awful lot more in the talks than Daryl or anyone else might have ever expected from him. He agrees to some kind of restitution. He agrees that there won’t be any more ironings and that any prisoners he keeps will be treated humanely. He agrees to some kind of transparency so people know he’s not falling back into his old ways.

And none of it’s enough to right all the wrongs, but it’s a start.

While they talk inside, Enid reads all the letters she can to the crowd demanding his head. Daryl watches her through the window while Maggie makes demands, while Negan counters back. He know’s Enid’s voice is shaking even though he can’t hear her.

He finds out later that it’s Rick’s letter that finally quiets everyone.

It’s years of peace later before Daryl finally learns what Carl wrote to his father. He finds the crumpled letter in Rick’s shirt pocket after they pull it off of him, an axe poised in Negan’s hand, ready to sever it at the elbow before the bite on Rick’s wrist can spread and kill.

They’re not friends and could still never ever be, but they’re not enemies anymore either.

Daryl throws the shirt out because it’s a mess of blood and holes. The letter, he holds delicately, the paper so worn now that it seems anything less than the lightest of touches might see it falling apart. He reads while Dr. Carson and Enid (his apprentice now) bandage Rick up and pump him full of antibiotics. Negan stares quietly out the window with blood on his hands and his face.

_Dad_ ,

_The first thing I need to say is that this isn’t your fault. The second thing I need to say is that I don’t regret saving him. I think sometimes we forget how important other people are and how much we need each other now._

_When mom died, she told me to do what’s right and not what’s easy. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. Both people who said it were right. And letting Siddiq die out there would have been easy._

_Killing Negan would be easy too. Continuing this war would be easy. I don’t want you to do either. I want peace, and maybe that’s just a dumb dream, but it’s the dumn dream everyone deserves._

_I’m sending Negan a letter. I’m not telling you how, but if it works you might have to make a choice between right and easy. Staying mad is easy. I’m not asking anyone to forgive him, not really. I’m asking them to realize that more death won’t fix what’s already happened. It'll just mean more people die. I’m asking you to realize that too, dad._

_You once said we survive by pulling together, not apart. I remember that. It was true then and it’s still true. We need each other if the world is going to keep going. If it’s going to be there for Judith when she grows up._

_If Negan is willing to try, then I need you to try too. All of you. To make the world better. For tomorrow. For all the Judiths out there who might live to see it._

_I love you, dad. You found me again and you did everything a dad was supposed to do and a lot more. I want you to know I knew that. I want you to know you didn’t fail me. And I hope you’ll do this one last thing._

_I’ll say hi to mom for you. We’ll be waiting._  
  
Love,  
  
_Carl_

Daryl finishes reading and refolds the letter as delicately as he unfolded it. He holds onto it until they learn Rick has stabilized, and then he quietly walks it to Rick’s house, slipping inside and placing it on a chest of drawers next to a framed Polaroid of Rick, Michonne, Carl and Judith.

He remembers a time when letters and the choice between right and easy made all the difference.

He remembers Carl Grimes.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore some of the letters Carl might have written and what was in them, and this grew out of that. 
> 
> Come cry in my inbox at DarylDixonGrimes on tumblr.


End file.
